thecapitol | And it cut me sharp hearing you'd gone away

Waking after the arena is always a gamble. He's screwed up enough that there's only two ways it can go, good or bad with nothing in-between.

Today it's bad. The memory of blood in his mouth wells up swift and sour before he's even opened his eyes, sending him lurching off the bed and scrambling for the bin in the corner of the room. He makes it, though only by virtue of having nothing to bring up from his stomach but bile. His throat and mouth are burning by the time he's settled down, back against the wall and exhausted before he even gets the chance to do anything.

For a while Bucky vaguely entertains the idea of seeking out his friends but leaving the room seems a vastly difficult prospect, and, selfish as it is, he knows they'll come to him sooner rather than later, they always do. That thought comforts him, even as he presses his face into his legs and tries to ignore the irritation that comes from the scruff of beard he always wakes up with.

So when there's a knock on the door he makes an assumption, clumsy and careless of him to do, and croaks out a "Come in." before he realises who it is.

Out of everyone he didn't expect his first visitor to be her. He suddenly feels ashamed of the state of himself, embarrassed for her to catch him this way.

If Peggy is at all offended by his appearance, she doesn't show it. Frankly, she's seen worse. She herself was in and out of surgery for days after her arena, so this is downright mild by her standards.

She considers leaving, though, since he doesn't seem to be in a state to see people, but he's going to want to know what happened. She doesn't want to leave him to stew in his own misery just to find out that his best friend is dead and gone.

"That was one hell of an arena," she says, crossing her arms as she walks into the room and gently kicks the door shut. "How do you feel?"

The answer is obvious, but she feels the need to ask anyway. It's worth it to give him a chance to say it.

Edited 2015-07-18 19:30 (UTC)

There's something about her, something that always makes him want to stand up straight and make sure his hair is combed and -- he pushes it aside. Almost two months in the arena with his healing factor on 'go' hadn't given him much in the way of answers for that, just flashes he didn't really understand.

Bucky twists his fingers in the fabric of his plain trousers. The sentiment of the answer to that question is easy enough to figure out, it's just the phrasing he has to consider.

"Like hell." he answers, gruff, voice burnt and hoarse. He could use a drink of water if he could find it in himself to move yet.

"Hi."

She's a surprise but not a bad one.

"Hey."

She watches his face to gauge his reaction to her as she slowly walks further inside. Slowly, she sits on the edge of his bed, within arm range but still keeping a respectful distance to allow him his space.

"I figured you would feel like that. Normally I would give you a day to get your bearings, but..." She smooths her hands over her knees. She didn't realize how hard this would be. "I thought that I should talk to you, and you would like to know this as soon as possible."

Eye contact. She owes him that, so she gives it to him, even if it's hard. "Steve didn't come back, James."

His fingers clench a little tighter in the fabric of his trousers but he makes no sign or sound that he wants her to go away. Part of him actually wants her closer but he doesn't give voice to that either.

"What?" Dread stabs into his stomach, sharp and overbearing, a cruel fear rising up and threatening to strangle him from within. It's bad, something bad is coming. His blue eyes widen before she even says the words. Something Peggy would come to tell him in person, something she would feel he needed to know so soon.

He's caught between the urge to scream and vomit up air all over again, resulting in a hiccuping, choking noise that doesn't really lead anywhere as his limbs lock in a sort of involuntary paralysis.

That can't... can't be right.

The noise he makes it heartbreaking. She wants to do something to ease the pain he’s feeling, but there’s nothing. He’s lost Steve, his best friend. Peggy knows how that feels. Eight years later and she’s still not over her own loss. Nothing she can do will make the pain go away.

(She wonders how her own Bucky had felt, running to District 13 and coping with the loss of Steve and the life he used to know on top of the aftermath of the arena. She’s sorry she hadn’t been there to help him.)

She keeps her eyes on his face, still trying to gauge his tolerance for proximity before slowly reaching out to rest her hand on his, ready to jerk away if he doesn’t like it. She gives him silence for a while, but it feels suffocating, so she says, “I can leave if you want me to. Or I can stay. We can spar or talk or… I could take you to my apartment if you don’t want to stay here.”

Peggy normally wouldn’t offer that to a Tribute, much less a Tribute who isn’t even in her own District, but he’s special and the situation is special. She doesn’t know what he needs, so she’s ready to offer anything she can.

Take it back he thinks, as if that will make it all better. As if that will make it untrue.

Peggy doesn't lie, not about things like this.

Reason tells him that, desperation denies and whispers thirteen in an attempt at a hope he can't voice in these quarters, with camera's and microphones everywhere. He wants to leap forward and ask her, he knows she knows things, Bucky saw her words on that hacker's post many weeks ago. He's not stupid to do what would be suicidal for him and an end for her and so many others.

"Don't--" he manages, strangled, his eyes finishing the sentence with a beseeching look. Don't leave. Steve's gone, Steve didn't come back. Bucky hangs his head a second later, jaw clenched as his fingers dig in tighter and tighter into his legs until maybe he's leaving bruises. Probably is with the left hand.

He's supposed to be better than this. Bucky needs someone though, to stay with because he doesn't know what he'll do alone. Take a knife to the first Peacekeeper throat he see's maybe. Bucky wants it and it's precisely what Steve wouldn't want of him.

She's hurting too, surely, to see another version of her best friend disappear into the bowels of the Capitol's monstrosity.

She is hurting. That’s true. It’s just that she’s used to hurting by now.

(She can’t imagine that District 13 had been able to grab him before the Capitol. The Capitol would have been especially cautious to take in a known, consistent traitor like that. She just hopes that his death was quick.)

He doesn’t want her to leave. Keeping one hand on his, she tentatively reaches out and brushes his hair from his face before putting her other hand on the back of his neck. “Okay,” she answers. “I won’t leave.”

She doesn’t know how long he needs her. She doesn’t know if he’ll talk or stay in silence; if he’ll eventually ask her to leave or try to lash out at a peacekeeper; or even if he’ll ever respond to her. But she’ll stay, and she’ll do what he needs her to do. More physical contact is available for him if he wants it, but for now, she keeps it at what they have so he can still have space to think and breathe.

(Her eyes sting, but she blinks it back. She remembers when she found out Steve was gone. She found out Bucky had been dragged to jail not long after. And then she found out Bucky had killed himself in jail, and there had been nothing to do but lock herself in the gym and ignore time and health and anything real.)

He shivers under that brief touch, about as fragile as the last dead autumn leaf clinging to the branch of a tree. Bucky looks up at her and relief floods his expression. At least he has this.

The exact amount of time it takes for him to talk again is hard to tell, at least from his perspective. Minutes? Hours? He's in that uncomfortable mindset where time feels relative, his thoughts untethered and flooding him with every awful emotion that he wishes he didn't have to feel. Yet he doesn't cry, not yet anyway.

Bucky finally talks and his voice sounds like he smoked a cigarette for every year he was the Asset and not Bucky Barnes, strangled by the oncoming wave of grief and helplessness. "I... I always tried to keep him out of trouble." Phrasing it so, so carefully. "Since I met him. He was getting hit on by a couple kids twice his size, standing up to 'em for... I don't remember what. I jumped in, and then I kept jumping in. Didn't stop him from finding trouble though."

One hand on his, one hand on the back of his neck. It's strange how comfortable she feels touching him. She tries to not think about it too hard while she waits for him to speak.

She listens quietly. The hand on the back of his neck starts to rub gentle circles into his skin. Her eyes sting at the stories because they're so familiar. "That sounds like something he would do," she says softly. It feels like they're slowly ripping off a rotten scab in her heart, revealing a rancid wound she had never been able to heal. "Things were similar with mine. I met him when I was just starting school. Some older kids were picking on me, and Steve thought it was a great idea to try taking them down. Of course they made mince meat out of him. I beat them up myself, then I sat on his back and pinched him until I thought he learned not to do anything that stupid again. He never learned. It was a good thing he had me and our Bucky looking out for him."

Peggy keeps rubbing her circles into the back of his neck. She squeezes his hand. "You protected him, James. You always did when you could." She doesn't need him to tell her that to know it. The trouble is that no one on Earth can keep a man like Steve Rogers alive indefinitely. One day, things just come crashing down.

He leans into it, almost arches like a cat for those warm points of contact. It grounds him, a physical reminder that he's no alone and he can't just shatter apart when there's someone there to hold onto him.

"I couldn't..." Bucky whispers hoarsely, "Couldn't when it mattered. He got into fights, signed himself up to be a lab rat, then he went to war and..." He saved everyone, that was what Steve did, saved the whole damn world and then some. In return though his friend lost so much.

Then finally, here, he's lost his life. Possibly lost his life is the traitorous murmur of desperate hope in his head that follows after.

Steve's his rock. Steve's been his constant, his -- he's the one who pulled him out of the darkness and gave him back himself. It doesn't make sense to be afraid that without him he'll fall back; Bucky knows he's not alone, Steve or no, but still the fear rises. He pinned too much of himself on Steve and he's going to pay the price for it.

"Of course you couldn't always save him. Short of locking him in a box, you can't possibly protect him from everything. And even then, you know that kind of smothering would have killed him a long time ago."

She remembers how he responded to her last time she massaged him. She starts to do something like that now, except only around the back of his neck.

"But that doesn't mean that the times you protected him didn't matter. You saved him more times than you know, I'm sure. It's partially because of you that he lived this long. I don't think Steve would think those years you gave him didn't matter."

She dares to move closer, now her side against his, her touches coming closer to a halfway embrace. She continues to keep an eye on his face, making sure that the contact doesn't make him uncomfortable. "This isn't your fault, James. I know it feels like the world is ending right now, but it's not, and neither are you."

Edited 2015-07-28 00:52 (UTC)

Bucky huffs a hoarse attempt at a laugh, which falls drastically short. "He hated it."

Any implication that Steve wasn't capable or couldn't take care of himself was like hurling yourself into a mine field, especially when he'd still been small. Steve had so much to prove that trying to talk him back was a lesson in agility, finding the right words and timing to avoid setting him off. Of course once Steve really set his heart on something there was no stopping him at all, everyone else just had to hang on for the ride and do their best to make sure he came out the other side in one piece.

He swallows then turns his head, pressing his face in against her shoulder. It takes a little work, given how much he generally dwarfs Peggy in size, but he makes it happen.

"I want to kill someone." he whispers haplessly against her shoulder, the sting of tears in his eyes. Bucky keeps his hands on his legs, where his tight grip can only cause damage to himself.

"I know you do, darling."

The pet name slips out. She doesn't even notice she has used it. Instead, she moves her arms so she can rest her chin on his head and fully embrace him. Let him take comfort from her. Goodness knows she hadn't been able to have the same thing when her boys left her, so she will give him what he needs now.

Her eyes sting too. She starts stroking his hair, trying to blink her own tears away. "But I know that it won't help. When my Steve died... my Bucky attacked a peacekeeper. They put him in jail." She has to take a deep breath. "And he committed suicide there." Her voice teeters dangerously close to cracking. Her eyes are dangerously close to overflowing. She blinks and breathes and strokes his hair. Her Bucky is alive, he's alive and still fighting, but that doesn't change the fact that she thought he was dead for years, and it doesn't change the fact that she spent those years asking herself questions over and over, wondering why. Even now, a part of her wonders why. It still hurts to talk about his 'suicide.' "Do you know what that helped? Absolutely nothing."

Her composure fails her for a moment. In that one word, the bitterness and grief and pain that hasn't gone away even after eight years slips in. The emotions are thick in her throat, and she has to swallow them down.

She has to keep breathing. Her eyes are threatening tears, and she can't cry. Not here, not now. "Don't make his mistakes, James. You know Steve wouldn't want you to risk being taken in."

He sighs, a sound that starts low in his chest and works its way out through his mouth as he squeezes his eyes shut. It's a poor measure and doesn't stop tears from dampening her shirt.

Bucky listens because it's what he needs to hear. He needs her, or Sam, Tony, Clint, anyone to tell him how fundamentally stupid it would be to go ahead and lash out at the first Capitol target he see's. He needs to be reminded that it would be a futile action, one that Steve wouldn't want him to and that would, in the end, end up hurting not just him but everyone else he cares for still left in this city.

Peggy was always good at putting things into perspective, he thinks distantly.

He hates it too. Bucky feels like he should be able to do something, take some action instead of sitting on his hands and feeling miserable for himself. It doesn't feel any better than when he was with HYDRA, still a puppet except this time he gets to remember and see the bars of his cage for what they are.

"What am I supposed to do then?" he says hoarsely, a bite to the words that's directed at himself more than her.

She can feel his tears soaking through her shirt and sticking to her skin. She rests her face in his hair. He smells familiar. It's not exactly the same as his counterpart, but there's an underlying similarity to the way they smell that hurts and comforts at the same time. If her eyes finally overflow and tears fall into his hair, she doesn't mention it.

"You mourn. Then you do what you have to." She starts massaging her hand into his back again, keeping him in a tight embrace and trying to provide what comfort she can. But what comfort can really help when someone loses Steve Rogers? "You take care of yourself and your friends. You keep doing that. Eventually, it won't be so hard to concentrate on."

She kisses his hair. "I wish I could tell you that it stops hurting after a while, but it's been eight years for me and I'm still waiting. What I can tell you is that living gets easier. You're strong enough to handle this, James."

He doesn't feel strong, he doesn't feel strong at all.

Bucky feels vulnerable, open, in ways he wishes he wasn't but is glad it's happening around Peggy and no one else. He tries not to think about the strange way she's always seen through him since the day they met, the way she rings through so familiar and understands him in ways he doesn't want to blame on her having known another version of him in this world. He's not that guy.

"Peggy..." it's the fact that it's her pain as well that helps her words ring true. Peggy's already lived through this once and she's survived, the way he's sure her Steve would have wanted her to. The way his Steve would want him to. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too, James."

She holds onto him tightly, her face buried in his hair and his face against her shoulder. She can't stop some tears of her own, but she doesn't let them overwhelm her. James' pain is the most raw right now, and he needs her to be strong for him.

Why does she feel the need to take care of him like this? It has to do with the fact that he looks so much like her own Bucky, but that can't be the only reason. Maybe it's the fact that she knows exactly how he feels and no one should have to feel like that. Maybe it's the fact that she feels comfortable and content when they spend time together, and she can say that about a precious few people. Maybe it's the fact that she just considers him a friend, regardless of the complication of their circumstances.

Either way, she's going to be there for him, no matter how inappropriate it looks to others.

For a while, it's just holding. Rubbing his back, breathing, and letting him cry as much or as little as he needs to. After a while, she says, "I... have a guest room in my apartment. You could use it if you like, if you need to get away from here."

For all of the comfort she's offering him Bucky certainly won't begrudge Peggy taking some of her own. He'd try to be better at it, except it's hard to focus on anything but his own misery and desperation to think of some way that Steve might not be dead. Be as it may, he knows he'd be lost without Peggy right now and -- and he's so grateful that she took on the responsibility of coming here to tell him first. He doesn't think he could've been so ready to accept this from anyone else, not even Sam.

She means something to him, something big, something's that maybe buoyed by a piece of his history he can't remember but only a little. Peggy earned this trust he has in her.

Eventually he breathes, voice still rasping, throat still sore and aching as he turns his face from her shoulder enough to talk. He'll be sorry for making such a mess of her shirt later. "If... please."

Staying here would be bad, even potentially dangerous for him and others. That anger hasn't vanished and all it would take is the wrong word or face to set it off. He needs somewhere else, somewhere quiet and away from the suffocation of these walls to let Steve's disappearance really sink in and Peggy has just offered him exactly that.

"Okay. I'd be happy to have you there."

She'll make something good for them both to eat once she feels she can. It's traditional in D10 to give food to a grieving family--admittedly, Steve wasn't Bucky's family, but he might as well have been. It'd make her feel more useful, at the very least, but no matter what she does, she won't feel adequate for the task.

She knew that this would bring back memories when she realized that Steve was taken away by the Capitol. Were she anyone else, she would have avoided this like the plague and ignored Bucky entirely. However, she can't do that in good conscience.

So now it's bringing in the memories like she knew it would. The sinking feeling when she found out Steve was taken. The sickening sensation when she realized that Bucky had run off and gotten himself sent to prison.

The way the bottom fell out of her stomach when she heard he was dead. That they were both dead.

She isn't going to let that happen this time. She's a strong, grown woman, not a frightened teenage girl. A few more tears fall from her eyes, the last tears for now, as she gently starts wiping the tracks from Bucky's face with one hand. "Let me know when you're ready to go."

He sniffs, sounding like a child as he does and holds still for the gentle brush of her fingers across his face. Bucky feels so raw, like he's been split open and had salt sprinkled in the wound.

"Don't need much." he tells her, closing his eyes for a moment. Just some spare clothes and -- he registers the soft coo from the dresser -- his tribble. Toro will help and probably be happy to put up with much more cuddling than Peggy would. Bucky doesn't know what he'd do without it at this point.

Probably should wash his face too before going out.

Bucky looks up, his eyes meeting hers as he swallows, "Thank you, Peggy."

It feels like she's cradling a child, but she doesn't mind it. If nothing else, she's learned that everyone sometimes needs to be child, no matter how old they are.

She meets his gaze as she moves her fingers through his hair. "Don't worry about it, James."

There's a brief inclination to kiss him, to offer comfort in that way too, but it's gone just as fast as it came. That may work with Capitolites moaning about slights and minor grievances, but it won't work here, and would be inappropriate at best.

Instead, she starts carefully wiping her own eyes. Her makeup can endure tears easily, but she still doesn't want salt tracks on her face when she goes outside. She doesn't let him go, though. He can move away when he wants to; she won't end their embrace herself.

It takes him a few more moments to finish gathering himself together. When Bucky does draw away it's with no small amount of reluctance but he tells himself the sooner he's out of here the better. He can get away, hide at least for one night from all the eyes and ears of everyone here.

Bucky stands carefully, suppressing the cough that wants to come out of his throat and closes his eyes for a moment, "I'm going to the bathroom. I'll be ready after that."

He tries not to move too quickly but still ends up in a rush, moving to the bathroom to splash his face with gold water and gulp messily from the tap. It helps and when he's done it's not too noticeable - even with his reddened eyes - what happened.

Back in the bedroom he grabs the minimum extra clothing he could need and carefully stows his tribble in his pocket.

Peggy uses the time to smooth herself out and fix her face and hair. There's not much she has to do, but fussing with it makes her feel better.

"Let's get going."

She takes his arm in hers--it's not entirely appropriate, but it's better that she have a hold of his arm just in case he sees the wrong person and loses it--and starts leading him out. "It's not a long walk away. I know the roads we can take to avoid the media."

Bucky certainly doesn't care what the rules are, what is and isn't appropriate, all that matters is that she's still touching him, still there. If anyone says a thing he'll ruin them for it. Peggy's his friend and he needs her, he'll fight for her if he has to.

They leave the room, Bucky's things stowed in a bag over his shoulder and he nods along, trusting her to choose the best path. "Okay."

There's not much more he can or wants to say as he ducks his head, studiously avoiding the eyes of anyone else they cross.

It almost feels like he's clinging to her arm, and she knows she made the right choice. It'll feed the rumor mill and possibly cause people to question her commitment to her own District, but that doesn't matter. The people whose opinions matter are in District 10, and they will understand why she has to look out for him.

She holds tight to him as they go downstairs and leave the building. The ground floor is relatively empty, but some people are still there, and a few Capitolites stare and start whispering, but she just shoots them a withering glare before ushering Bucky outside.

"Just this way." She keeps hold of his arm as she leads them down backstreets, behind stores and in between buildings, down places where people disappear. It's obvious that Peggy has made an effort to find paths where she can avoid as many people as possible.

Once they're out of the Tower he feels a little better. The open air helps with oppressive weight on his chest until he can almost breathe freely again.

"Okay." he murmurs, continuing to keep pace with her, his head ducked so his hair sweeps forwards and mostly covers his face. Bucky's barely paying attention to his surroundings until they reach her apartment building. It's the first time (other than the week in Peacekeeper cells) that he'll ever have spent a night in the Capitol outside of the Tower.

Inside the apartment building, there's nothing to greet anyone. No avoxes, no doormen, nothing. It's just a gray lobby with an elevator. Peggy takes Bucky to the elevator and presses the right buttons.

Inside her apartment, there's a similar lack of personality. There are few decorations and everything is kept spotlessly clean. The only signs that someone actually lives here is the smell of wood smoke and a wall hanging (made by Eowyn) in the living room. After living there for years, Peggy hasn't put much of an effort into making the space her own. Making it her own would mean that she would feel violated when people invaded it, and she expected people to invade it.

"I have a brisket being smoked in the kitchen. We could have it for dinner, if you like."

Even when they're in her apartment, she doesn't let his arm go quite yet. She doesn't want to be the first to pull away, and besides the touch is comforting. "Please, make yourself at home."

It's nice, is the first though that runs through his head. Quiet, empty but for the two of them. It's simple without any of the gross opulence of the rest of the city and something about the practicality of it speaks more of Peggy than anything else.

"That's fine. Anything you want is fine." Bucky's still finding it hard to think, isn't sure that he'll even be able to eat later but resolves to try at least. The news has destroyed his appetite alongside his ability to feel anything but numb empty shock or furious anger.

He's still holding onto her arm.

She kicks off her shoes, and an odd relaxation comes over her. She spent most of her life being unable to afford shoes, and walking around without them just feels more natural to her. "The meat could use a little more time to smoke."

In reality, she's just putting off preparing food so she can cuddle (and fine, that's the accurate word) with him until he doesn't need her to anymore. She leads him to the couch (not squishy like many Capitolite couches, but firm and supportive, nicer than whatever furniture she used to have) and sits down with her back against the armrest. He can just hold onto her arm if he likes, but she won't object to him resting his head on her body or otherwise getting closer.

She usually deeply dislikes closeness like this, but she trusts him, and that makes a huge difference for her. Instead of making her skin crawl, this makes her feel calmer and comforted in the wake of the pain of losing a dead man all over again.

Bucky follows her without another word, mute but completely malleable to her direction. He sits down, keeping his grip on her arm, then after a moment's hesitation puts his head down on Peggy's shoulder. It hides his face from view, and more importantly it hides anything else from him as he squeezes his eyes shut. He trusts Peggy enough to let himself be so vulnerable around her.

He's just so... so tired, of everything. Of the arena's, of death and losing friends. Everything tells him that he should be better than this, should be stronger, the weapon had never known what it was to feel loss.

She uses her free arm to reach and stroke his hair gently. It feels easier to comfort him here, away from the ever-present reminders of the Hunger Games and the Capitol pressing in on all sides.

She doesn't say anything because there's nothing left to say. She just touches him and stays there to allow him something to cling to. If he wants to just fall asleep there wrapped up around her, she'll allow it. For now, she can be the one friend who he doesn't have to fear leaving.

And it cut me sharp hearing you'd gone away

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